


a toast to now

by allsovacant



Series: fluff & romance [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas fic, Confessions, Fluff, Inspired by Music, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, POV John Watson, Past Character Death, Pining, Prompt Fic, Retired John Watson, Retired Sherlock Holmes, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: All John Watson wants is to spend another Christmas Eve alone, spending his favorite past-time in his flat. But then his daughter Rosie asks for help in Christmas shopping. Of course, nothing can go wrong—except for an unpredictable London snow, which he’s so used to, by the way. What John Watson isn’t prepared of—is for Fate to throw a person from his past along the way.____Loosely based on Dan Fogelberg's Christmas song,’Same Old Lang Syne’. From his seventh album, The Innocent Age, released in 1981. The title is also part of the lyrics of the chorus from the song.We drank a toast to innocenceWe drank a toast to now
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: fluff & romance [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1142561
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	a toast to now

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta Read. Please do not post to other sites. Thank you.

The nearest local grocery store Robinson's, buzzed with last-minute Christmas eve shoppers when I arrived. Consumers drag their feet here and there from counter to counter, going through their long lists. If my daughter Rosie was here, she'll probably bitch about them. _People_ ... She would say. Good thing she and her husband, George are preoccupied with their little Diana and preparing the Christmas dinner. And that these items will be needed tomorrow. 

Letting out a sigh, I stomped my feet lightly on the welcome rug to get rid of the snow under my boots. The second week of December sees a mix of rain and heavy snow, according to the weather channel. Either way, if not for Rosie needing help with shopping, I wouldn't be here wearing layers of clothes. I'm as boring as a hermit these days, especially when this month comes. Having retired from practice a few years ago, there's not much that interests me except reading. 

Back up twenty plus years ago, a criminal chase would be marvellous. 

I cringed at the voice in my head. It's got a point though. I walk unhurriedly, just looking over sections of displays while glancing at the crumpled list in my hand. There's turkey, cranberry sauce, potatoes... and this one I'm having a hard time reading. I always remind Rosie to list everything and not leave a space but she still manage to forget something. Then George would be the one to add that one unreadable entry. Hence, the one at the end.

I am about to head to the frozen foods section, still looking on my list, when I pass by a tall figure of a man wearing a posh Belstaff and got a whiff of an achingly familiar scent. 

My feet stopped of their own accord, barely missing the other shoppers in front of me. Like before, my whole attention gravitated toward him. What is he doing here? The last time I heard of him, he was married to some posh guy who runs a bank. The fact that I wasn’t invited to his wedding was supposed to make me hate him. But what I felt instead, were regret, sadness, and what-ifs. The way we part two years after the death of Rosie’s mother, isn’t how I wanted our last time together to be. But there were things before that I felt while with him that made me question who I am. I was a coward not to deal with it. A coward to use Rosie as the reason to start for something fresh and new life, away from the people I got used to having in my life. All because of unrequited feelings that I couldn’t even talk about. 

But if I could turn back the time, I’d do anything to make it right. But it’s all too late now. 

I stared at him like he was a ghost in my past. 

He was still taller than me. That, I had already accepted ever since. He had the same mop of curls, only now they are peppered with streaks of grey.

But, oh Lord, he’s still gorgeous. Still had that glint in his eyes, that reflects curiosity and mischief.

I braved myself and approach him slowly. He was holding a pack of biscuits examining it against the light like the man of science he is. He made this facial expression that used to tell me he didn’t like something as he chucked the pack back to the rack. Like he did with the packs of frozen peas when I used to take him with me shopping. 

The memory flashed before me so vivid, I could touch it. That was always a source of entertainment. How Sherlock mentally dissect everything that he’s curious about. It brought back a lot of funny memories from stakeouts as well. That before I could stop myself, it made me snort out loud. And that’s when he turned in my direction, list still at hand. 

When our eyes met, it’s like everything stood still. The time, the shoppers, the grocer's noise went silent, the air felt thick. Once again I felt that familiar pull. The one I had that night when we came back from dinner at Angelo’s after I saved his life from a desperate cabbie driver. The first time I felt alive again after the army. The beginning of something I refused to recognize. And so here we are.

He didn’t recognize me first, but I knew it the moment he did. 

His eyes widen to a shock and then all of a sudden, my arms are full of a laughing former detective. Telling me how he missed me, asking me how I’ve been. He whispers my name over and over again as if he couldn’t believe I am here. But all I could think of was... God, he smelled the same as well. It made my chest ache. So I just tightened my arms around his waist, holding him close. He’s warm and familiar and … He’s my Sherlock Holmes. My former partner, colleague, best friend. My almost.

It’s been twenty years since we went our separate ways, and I’m still in love with him.

•••

”So, how have you been?”

I glanced at Sherlock as we stood in line along with the other shoppers by the cashier. Those peppered grey curls distract me. I’m having that urge to pull him close and kiss him while I bury my fingers in them.

”John?”

Christ. I didn’t realize I was staring at him. And he’s looking at me with that shy smile.

”Sorry, what?” I asked dumbfoundedly, but he just shook his head.

”I was asking how you were,”

”Oh. Good. Very good. Yeah. You?” I asked back before I turn my gaze down to the bags I’m totaling so I can bag them.

”Oh. I... It’s been a difficult year.” He said a bit distracted. Then went on to scan his purchases. It was then that I noticed the eyebags under his eyes.

”Would you like to drink? We can talk about it,” I offered. Why? I don’t know. I just want to be with him. To know more about him. Call me a masochist. 

I hesitated. Bloody hell, me. So I hedged.  
”But it’s alright if you don’t—”

”I liked you—” 

Sherlock said all of a sudden. We both stopped on what we’re doing then slowly glanced at each other. My heart beating fast against my chest.

”I’d like to have a drink with you.” He rectified. But it’s as if my heart, my heart knows what he meant.

And for the first time after my life with him, I find myself smiling a genuine one.

••••

Coffee at hand, we walk a bit until we reached the little parking lot where Sherlock’s car is. I had a feeling that he wanted to ask if I ever learned driving, judging by the glances he’s throwing at me, so I answered his unvoiced question.

”Nope. I didn’t pursue learning how to drive.”

He hummed like he was thinking about my answer. I would’ve told him that my panic attacks got worse that I had to bring a then young Rosie to Harry’s until I can be sure that it’s safe. But he remained silent. Finally, we found his car which surprised me because it isn’t a rental anymore. It’s a black hammer Jeep and I think it suited him. Posh and exquisite.

We went inside just as the evening turned darker and the snow fell quickly than before.

We made ourselves comfortable and talk about the earlier days of our lives. But we stopped when I had to pause about Mary. Not because I felt guilty about his death, nor I want to make Sherlock feel that way. But because I want to tell him the words I should’ve told him before. That the John Watson before was someone I regret. But I didn’t. Add that to my pile of regrets. 

I was again surprised that he pulled out a six-pack of canned drinks, an hour in our conversation. He gave me three canned beers while he pulled a soda from the mix.

I told him about Rosie and George and little Diana. Rosie growing up, her schooling, the time he met George in France. I noticed that as I go on he had this sadness in his eyes. He looked down and apologized that he wasn’t there when Rosie’s growing up. And I felt like an utter dick for robbing him off of those memories.

Then, just to divert everything from talking about me, I asked about him. The last days of him being a detective. His funny cases, well funny because it includes Anderson and the rest of the NSY. Then he dropped the bomb that Greg (he finally got the name of our friend right) married Mycroft. We laughed and laughed when he told me about how Greg got Mycroft speechless with his proposal in the middle of a crime scene. 

He told me of his house in Sussex Downs. An old bed and breakfast he bought and turned into a house when it closed two years ago. He told me about his bees and how it helped him not miss going into cases and the thrill of it. I could almost see a future with Sherlock tending to his bees while I read a book by the chair or sometimes helping him. I shook my head at the illusion. Stop hoping for something you can never have. 

He told me about the death of his parents about six years ago. I went silent for a minute to give the Holmes' parents a prayer. Then I apologised for not being there. Sherlock said that he understood. But he admitted that losing them in consecutive years were hard, and with Mrs. Hudson's death two years after. Of Molly, who migrated to Italy for her beau. 

And then Sherlock told me of his brief marriage. And by brief, that it's only for two years. When he came out as gay. That was a bit of comfort. But I told him I didn’t want him to suffer through that. So, I told him it was fine. Just like I did that time in Angelo’s. The silence that followed was welcoming. 

I watched as my former best friend swirled the soda can slowly in his hand like he was holding a glass of champagne. Then what he called a sob story, continued.

He told me how he met Harold, a banking executive who found him ’fascinating’. Who knew about his previous cases by reading ’my’ blog. I should’ve been offended, but that blog has been a source of strength for me, whenever being alone is becoming too much. He told me about Harold who has dirty blonde hair and a bit taller than him. Who’s a graduate of Psychology. Who helped him when he had a relapse. And Sherlock must’ve seen me wanting to ask about it, about the whys and when. However, he shook his head at me and turned away to look at the snow outside. If Sherlock looked sad about Rosie earlier, he was even sadder now. He told me it was a year ago today when the divorce was finalized. He moved to Sussex inn after everything that happened. He forgot that it became his sanctuary, whenever he and his ex-husband fought. But he didn’t have to, I could see it in his eyes.

And I hated myself even more because I felt glad that he’s single. And felt guilty as if it was because my conflicted feelings had led us to this. 

With our booze gone, the silence became louder. It was then that I realize, I couldn’t just throw myself again in Sherlock’s life. He’s on his own and so am I. 

Sherlock offered to drive me to Rosie’s house where I told him I’ll spend Christmas. I conceded so I wouldn’t have to take a cab. He also said he noticed I was limping again. Of course, he would. But I told him that I slipped in the bathroom the other day while fixing the showerhead. Oddly enough he didn’t comment but I did notice him blush and went into deep thought as we exit the parking lot. It was an endearing look on him. 

We were a few blocks away from Rosie’s house when the falling snow got worse.

”Are we having a blizzard?” Sherlock asked me while eyeing the blurry front shield. 

”News says we will, sometime today.” I answered eyeing my phone for Rosie’s messages. So far, none.

Then suddenly the car stopped in the middle of an empty road, and Sherlock cursed.

”Sherlock?” I looked at him and almost laughed. He looked like an overgrown child murdering his lower lip by biting it.

”I think I ran out of gas.”

Unconsciously, my hand moved on its own, and my thumb started caressing the said lip. I smiled when he let go of it.

”Did you know your lip will darken if you keep biting on it?” I murmured to myself more than to him, and now my fingers slide over his jaw. 

”You’ve always hated growing facial hair.” I chuckled as I remember the memory of him telling me he liked his doctors clean-shaven. ”You never liked my beard.”

”No,” He whispered. ”But I... I lo—like you enough to compensate for it, I think.” 

The tone of his voice made me look into his eyes and I was shocked to see his eyes shimmering in tears. And it made me wonder if he was crying for the words he told me, or for the one he replaced by it. But he can’t be... Can’t he? 

”Sherlock...”

”Please hear me out?”

I nodded as a tear fell in his eye. I wiped it with my thumb as he continued.

”I’m not a religious man, John. But I asked for a miracle still. And He gave me Rosie.”

I stared at him stupidly, as he went on for the explanation.

”A month ago, I bumped into her at Harrod’s. She was the one who approached me and told me she knew who I am. She told me she’s my godchild and that she’s heard so much about me from you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Rosie never told me she saw Sherlock. Maybe there was another reason. But still, I didn’t know what to feel that my daughter didn’t tell me. As if reading my thoughts, Sherlock reached for my hand and held it.

”Don’t hate her, please. I asked her not to tell you. And I’m the one who told her to ask you to visit the store.”

What the...

I stared at Sherlock like I didn’t know him. Like he was a stranger. Did he mean to say that this meeting didn’t happen in an accident? Rage burned inside me and I forced myself to breathe.

”John...”

I raised a hand, my hand that is shaking. My hand that I curled into a fist, lowering it slowly. Christ. After all these years... I thought he’d change. But no, he’s still that same manipulative bastard. And to think that he dragged Rosie into this? My daughter would never lie to me... except she did.

”What do you want with me, Sherlock ”  
I shouldn’t felt that satisfaction when my voice went harsher and sounded cold that made the man beside me cringed. But I felt it. And it dulled the ache of betrayal.

”John... You promised me you’ll listen. Please, John.” 

I glanced at him and oh how I want to punch that pleading face. That same tear-streaked pleading face that offered a mock apology under the Westminster subway because he claimed he couldn’t switch off a bomb, that turns out has a switch. That same face that said, ”Not dead.”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t punch him, for the love of God I couldn’t. So I closed my eyes giving him a terse nod. Then I closed my eyes and forced myself to just listen.

”I didn’t mean ... to drag Rosie in between us. But when she saw me and still introduced herself, and told me about... how you’ve been dealing with... your life. She was just concerned about her father, John. And although she asked me, I’ve always wanted to see you for my selfish reasons.”

I bowed my head not able to think about anything else. And Sherlock must’ve sensed that I’m not going to say anything, so he continued.

”You’ve always blamed yourself for the fallout of our friendship.

”But the truth is... I am to blame as well. Because I made you believe that you didn’t matter to me. That it’s okay for you to leave while there’s a huge elephant in the room stomping in between us. I never really told you I was gay. That it’s okay for you to move away. But I thought... I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you go. Because there is a saying that—”

That was the time when I wasn’t able to restrain myself and I mocked a laugh.

”A saying? Sherlock Holmes believes in a saying now? Fantastic. Oh wait. You told me you’re talking about a mir—”

Then Sherlock cut me out.

”A saying that ’if you love someone, set them free’... And if they come back they’re yours and if not...”

The following words Sherlock said became muted as I stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. My heart began that rapid beating again, and I tried to replay the conversation in my head but fail. Because I think I’ve gone into shock. Sherlock Holmes is...

”John?”

What? Oh. Sherlock’s saying my name. He’s holding my face. And then Sherlock did the last thing I ever expect him to do.

He kissed me. His full lips pressed against mine and all I could think of is the need to breathe. So I opened my mouth and let him in. How many minutes passed with our lips locked to one another, I lost count of it. But I cherished it. Treasured it. Suddenly, Christmas has redeemed itself to me. 

But as much as I want to end up kissing him all night, I touched the side of his face, and we split apart.

I rested my forehead against his, closed my eyes, and just breathe. No more dull ache. No more invisible pain. Just peace.

Sherlock Holmes is in love with me, and I think a miracle happened to me as well.

”You’re smiling,” He whispered against my lips. I want to say, ’I am. And it felt damn good, thanks to you.’ But it also felt like I don’t have the strength to talk. So, I just smiled. 

Eventually, I gathered Sherlock in my arms. He lowered our car seats and we lay down snuggled to one another while we watch the snow outside.

”I want to see you again, John.”  
He murmured against my jumper and I held him tight. All this time... All these years we wasted.

”It wasn’t wasted.”

I looked down at him with a frown.  
When he gave me that beautiful and understanding smile that reflects in his eyes, I know once again I am a goner.

”It made us stronger and realize our mistakes. So, when we meet again, we’ll be ready for that second chance.”

I was speechless. The fact that Sherlock talked about second chances made me think he knew...

”Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Sherlock looked at me with that ’You’ve-Got-to-Be-Kidding-Me-You-Thought-I-Wouldn’t-Know look. I think I deserve that. He’s a perceptive and observant human being after all.

”What? That you’re in love with me?”

I choked from nothing and covered my face with my palm as heat rushed on my face.

”Oh my god. John Watson, are you blushing?” Sherlock teased as he held my wrists. Pretending to remove them while laughing as he collapsed on my shoulder.

”Shut up, Sherlock!” 

I acted like I was mad as he teases me but really I wasn’t. The madman giggled at the crooked of my neck and I held him tighter. God, it felt so good. It felt like coming home. It felt like a perfect time to say the words I was a coward for being afraid to recognize. For hiding that part of me. 

But the words that Sherlock murmured against my skin, I wasn’t expecting to resonate in me so much.

”Forgive yourself, John. Forgive the past-John Watson, so you, the future, and he can be one.”

That’s when I realized, he was right. Sherlock had changed so much. But he changed for the better. And I’m proud of him. I want him to be proud of me too. I want Rosie to be proud of his father. 

So I worked my throat to say it and Sherlock must’ve felt it. He got up a bit to balance in his elbow. Then he looked at me with fondness in his eyes and not a trace of conviction or hatred. He looked at me like he was waiting for so long, for me to say those words. Like we hadn’t become strangers again but instead, we finally found one another. 

”I am... I am forgiving you, past-John Watson. I forgive myself. ” And as Sherlock blurred in front of me, I let the voice inside of me be heard. 

”And I... I love you, Sherlock. I am in love with you, Sherlock Holmes. I always have, and I always will. And I’m so sorry...” 

And the damn broke. My voice caught in my throat as I buried myself against Sherlock. I hugged him tightly, my tears falling freely over his shoulders, I cried for every single mistake I made, for every feeling of regret. I let them all go with my tears as Sherlock’s heartbeat against my own lulled me to sleep.

My consciousness was awakened by a knock on the window. I groaned and rubbed my eyes when I realized, it was morning already. I looked beside me and saw Sherlock still asleep. When the knock came again, it was then that I looked up to find the two gloved little hands pounding the window. 

I heard a muffled ”Granda!” which meant Granddad made me smile. I woke Sherlock up and he grumbled about still wanting to sleep. Even so, I opened the window to the two important girls in my life. 

”Granda!” I grinned as I took the bouncing three-year-old from my daughter.

”Dad, Merry Christmas! I thought something real bad happened. Your text message just came in. Bloody blizzard.” Knowing my Rosie, she’s trying not to laugh at how we look. Sherlock is still half-sprawled on my lap and half-lying on the seat. 

”Oi, you—” I started as Rosie’s eyes widen at me. Realizing what I’m about to tell her, she began to raise her hands but I wave her off.

”All’s good..” I said with a reassuring smile. George came behind her, embracing her. She sniffed, wiping her eyes brimming with tears. I took a deep breath while hugging Diana and told my little family, the truth. 

”This might not be a perfect time and place for what I’m about to say, but... I want you both to know that I’m bisexual. And I’ve always been in love with my best friend. Sherlock Holmes—”

As if hearing his name, the man himself woke up beside me, rubbing his eyes. He yawned with a sound that made Diana laugh and the two outside giggle. He blinked realizing we aren’t alone anymore. 

”Oh. Little Watson, you again.”

”Oh, god. Here we go again. I’m not Little anymore, Uncle Scott.”

”Nope. I meant, this little girl. She looks just like you when I used to call you Little Watson.”

Rosie half-laughed and half-cried. She was smiling but her eyes are filled with tears. 

”I’ll always be your Little Watson, Pops—” I looked at Sherlock who’s now looking at her with the same teary eyes. 

”And Dad.” I looked at my daughter as my tears fell. She looked just like her mother, except for the eyes she got from me. But her understanding and unconditional love, it was engraved in her whole being from the second person who made me and Sherlock feel like we’re a family: Mrs. Hudson. 

Rosie learned a lot from her childhood years when she used to visit and look after her. That even if I haven’t find the words to explain why Sherlock’s with us now, she’s already given us that blessing. A miracle for me, indeed. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. 

•••••

Our reunion was cut short by the towing service George contacted later on. And as we sat in the cozy living room of their humble home, I admitted I’ve never spent a Christmas morning with them. It’s always a Christmas dinner. And I promised myself from now on, for that to change. Now that the missing part of my family has come returned. I plan to spend every Christmas and every occasion with them. 

As the day went by, the presents got opened, dishes had been washed. I stood on the porch watching the snow falling from the sky again. A pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind.

”Are you alright?” Sherlock murmured by my shoulder.

I smiled as I answer. ”Mmm. I’ve never been better.”

It was then that I remember what he said last night about a Rosie being the answer to the miracle he asked.

”Hey, you told me meeting Rosie by chance is your miracle? Why is that?”

I felt Sherlock’s arms tighten around me as he whispered his answer in my ear.

”Because she led me back to you,”

A beat passed before I turned around to face him. I clicked my tongue, in a mocking sound.

”Bloody hell, Sherlock Holmes. I thought I love you already. I can’t believe you’re making me fall in love with you even more.”

My eyes trailed above his head on the topmost part of the door, noticing the freshly picked plant George nailed above it yesterday morning before I look back at the madman giving me a smug look. Never in my life, I ever wanted to remove that look on his face than I used to with a punch before. 

So, I removed it—by curling my fingers on his coat collar, dragging him closer to me, and giving him an under-the-mistletoe toe-curling kiss.

Turns out the old John Watson’s still got it. I smirked to myself.

Who’s the one looking smug now?

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of the advent calendar I just finished. I loved the story so I decided to separate it. Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! Merry Christmas! ✨


End file.
